Ten years ago, you wouldn't have wanted to be me. I was ugly, plain and simple. I came fully loaded with a shrub of short, curly hair I didn't know how to tame, eyebrows I didn't know how to pluck, braces I couldn't wait to get rid of and a mustache that was just dark enough to notice. When I was very young, the short curls were cute, but when I entered middle school I became known as The Fro. Kids would yell my new moniker down the hall or scream it at the top of their lungs when the ball came my way in gym.

"You got The Fro in your class?" said one boy to another on the first day of eighth grade.

In middle school I was not perceived as a human; instead, I was some sort of emotion-free blob and it was duty of my peers to point out just how unsightly I was. I'd get prank calls to my house asking if I was one of the Jackson 5. On the day of a monthly school dance, a boy came over to me in lunch, and in front of a group of people, asked if I'd dance with him that night. I eagerly said yes.

"Do you think I'd ACTUALLY want to dance with you?" he scoffed, then sauntered back to The Popular Kids, where much laughing was done at my expense.

In hindsight, all of this stuff seems somewhat insignificant, but back then, each time a classmate called me Teen Wolf or picked me last for kickball, whatever shred of self-esteem I'd built up vanished. I felt utterly hopeless; I couldn't imagine things ever improving. I didn't think I'd ever be anything more than a punchline. I spent many nights crying, asking God to alter my DNA in my sleep and let me have straight hair or at least make me invisible. My parents tried to help by telling me that none of this would matter in ten tears but I couldn't conceptualize that. All I knew was the present and the present was unbearable.

In high school things got better. I grew my hair out, lost some weight, found tweezers and gained some much-needed confidence. People just sort of left me alone. I was a lot happier, despite the fact that I convinced myself I would never find a boyfriend because guys only wanted girls with straight hair. When it came time to choose colleges, I was sure I wanted to go somewhere far away and much of that decision was rooted in my painful childhood. I wanted people to see me as Amanda, not The Fro. I chose a school 700 miles south of my hometown, where no one knew me.

College was a blast. I partied, I made new friends and kept in touch with my old ones, I volunteered and last year I graduated Magna Cum Laude; now I work as a journalist in the same city and I love it.

I even snagged a boyfriend who jokingly threatens to break up with me if I straighten my hair. After we had been dating for almost a year I worked up the guts to show him my yearbook photo from sixth grade, braces, fro and all. Even though it had been so long since I was teased, I was secretly afraid he'd change his mind about me once he saw the picture.

"You were cute," he said with a smile.
"Really?" I was genuinely shocked. I guess I was cute in an extremely awkward, pre-teen way. It would have been nice if others would have seen me as cute too, but I don't mind that they didn't. I wouldn't be who I am today if it wasn't for bullying. I'm not condoning it by any means, nor would I like to relive those middle school years, but bullying drove me to explore the unfamiliar and throw myself into new and oftentimes uncomfortable situations, all of which I've grown from.

Oddly enough, the people who picked on me the most are the ones who dropped out of high school and college and are still living at home, updating their Facebook statuses about how bored they are. I'd be lying if I said I didn't fantasize about telling them off at our high school reunion, but I probably won't need to. Those people peaked already, but I'm just getting started.